


Make It Through The Storm

by LadyAllana



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Blanket Fic, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cold, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAllana/pseuds/LadyAllana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Missing Scene - Mors Idecepta. ) </p>
<p>As the snow storm shatters Spartacus's camp apart, Agron and Nasir try to keep warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Through The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Because, the East of the Rhine must be a German speaking country and Agron looks as if he would be able to bear a blizzard naked and 'smiling' -seriously Dan what's up with those dimples???

**Making It Through The Night**

 

 

 

~The storm rages on.

 

With every breath taken in, he can see the hearts freeze all around him. Friends, comrades, confidants and the ones with fates so very much alike _him_ fall to the snow and the ice never to rise again from their eternal sleep.

 

He knows there is nothing he can do about the ones already fallen, no power in his hands to raise the death or save the weak, the sick children, the elderly and believers of cruel gods. So he must do what he can to protect the ones who yet draw breath to boil Roman blood.

 

His spear is long since frozen and he can feel it burn his hand as if were the flame, as if it were the sword that once saved _his own life._ His cloathing though heavier than a gladiators, feels like a thick second skin, cold and wet and it is like a thousand needles agains bare tigh. Perhaps, he thinks it is better without it, like Lugo or Crixus prefers it to be, free of the mortal necessities of the world, free to _bleed_ and draw blood if needed.

 

Screams around him has since turned into pathetic wails or perhaps the wind is so strong that he cannot hear anything anymore.

 

He thinks that Agron's tent has never offered more comfort than it does this very moment, shielding him from the harsh wind and the blazing pain of snow. There are little boys anf girls huddled in every single corner, in the place where they carefully place their weapons _\- Agron's gladius, his spear and various knifes and arrows collected from Roman shit -_ there is a mother who is trying to keep her children warm with her thin arms and Lugo is near enough, trying to keep them warm alltogether with a blanket and his enormous body.

 

Their bed though, is blissfully empty, not even Lugo has dared to lay his hands there, to the cocoon of clothes and blankets that has been long since cold without the lust on their private nights.

 

Teeth clattering and fingers trembling, he gives the children all he can spare, the sheets and a roman shirt, a turban and Agron's beloved waiscoat which he had exchange for the cold metal of armor, goes to the youngest of them all that he can see, a girl of four winters and he wraps it tightly around the thin child until he is sure the clothing is enough to carry her through the night.

 

At last, only a woolen blanket remains upon the small bedding, something Agron has acquired for them in Sinuessa before any of the others could get their hands on Aedile's belongings.

_When he had asked why they would need such a heavy thing, Agron had smiled only and had kissed him on the lips. He hadn't got it's meaning until their first night in the white after the escape with his lips blue and colder than he has ever been and thought capable of ever being._

_Even though their constant bickering and fighting, even though the shouts and the screams and the tears Agron had wrapped the wool tightly around his shoulders, he had stayed away from his embrace though until **he** was warm enough to move again and found himself near the gladiator white as the mountains around them yet somehow awake and **alive**. He had settled on his muscled torso like so many nights before and the blanket had kept them warm through the night. _

 

The memory and despair hurts his eyes as he lays himself under the cold blanket, unable to give one belonging that he keeps to heart away, yet doubting its purpose without Agron's warm touch. He doesn't cry the unshed tears, because he knows the tears will turn to **ice.**

 

***

 

Agron comes hours later, or perhaps minutes he does not know. He checks every single child in thier small yet steady tent, making sure they yet draw breath, that their hearts still beat against what the Romans and their fucking gods have thrown on them.

 

Then he comes beside the bedding half covered with snow, his hair and clothes however scarce are covered in solid white, but his eyes **burn** with despair and longing and love.

 

And Nasir thinks, maybe he will be able to feel warm again, warmer then the has ever felt because the green eyes that he has fallen in love with burn brighter then the sun in the darkenss of their tent.

 

Looking into his eyes, into the **sun,** he slowly lifts the blanket with trembling hands and Agron sheds the cold metal armor and wet subligaria before lying next to him.

 

His skin, Nasir notices, is colder than his own, but Agron doesn't tremble. Neither does Lugo who lays snoring in the corner and probably Saxa and all the others from the country beyond the mountains. They are from the lands that can be way colder than this, and though they have warmed and burnt with the blazing and the scarring Roman sun, their sking is used to the cold, the familiarity and the comfort of home settle into their bones, protecting them from the worst to come.

 

A couple of minutes later, when he thinks he is warm enough Agron's hands finds his pants -still wet and cold, Nasir knows that they will be no help to them. He lets the gladiator shed them swiftly and flash their bodies together at once. The arms wrapped around his body feel hot as they have ever felt.

 

It is the hearth he has been looking for, Agron's body, all hard with blemished skin and deep scars, with its imperfect perfection keeping him **safe** and keeping him **free.**

 

He finds it odd that it is so **easy** , that they still fit together as well as they ever had, that this is _real_ and this is _true_ and this **needs** be.

 

They are where they are supposed to be now, before Castus and all the mess that has fallen on them in Crassus's wake, back when their hearts were hot with desire and love wasn't hidden behind cold jealousy and frustration and anger.

 

He feels himself melt to Agron's touch, his embrace and the soft smile upon his shoulder and Agron sighs to the cold comfort that is starting to warm between them again.

 

They don't do anything besides keeping eachother awake through the night, with nudges and stories of the sweet sun and happines and love, with dreams and promises of a future **together**. Agron nudges his shoulder with his head and Nasir turns around and wraps his legs around Agron's.

 

They'll stay warm until the storm ends.


End file.
